Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ryan managed to survive the flight without throwing up or passing out, and it was all down to Camille. Seated beside him in the helicopter she kept his thoughts from imagining the chopper suddenly plunging from the skies and his life ending in a fiery crash. She’d even waved to Simon as they flew over the hotel where Java Junction was located.
She is definitely the best kind of distraction for being afraid of flying.
After soaring over the short strip of water which separated Fire Island from the mainland, the pilot carefully set the helicopter down in a green field. He killed the engine, and the blades eased to a slow spin.
“Whoever owns that place must have some serious sway with the authorities,” observed the pilot over the headset, pointing to the multilevel beach house. Apparently, it was rare to get approval to land a helicopter on the island.
Ryan hadn’t checked to see who owned the place. He’d let Sheila handle that part of things with the booking agent. All that had mattered to him was being able to secure the booking for two weeks, and making Camille happy.
But right now all I really care about is getting out of this chopper and putting my feet back on the ground.
As they alighted, a man appeared through a nearby gateway, and waved to them. He towed a flatbed hand wagon behind him. When he finally reached where Ryan and Camille stood, he gave them a cheery greeting. “Good morning. Welcome to Saltaire. I’m Paul, the housekeeper for Trade Winds.”
Ryan took in Paul’s Ralph Lauren pale pink polo shirt, khaki pants, and bare feet, and knew they’d picked the right place. The housekeeper had the demeanor of someone who’d lived on the island forever and knew the secret of living a quiet life.
Camille stepped forward and offered Paul her hand. “Hi, I’m Camille Royal. Ryan and I are so looking forward to staying at Trade Winds.”
If Paul carried himself with the air of someone used to digging his toes in the sand, Camille’s posture was one of someone used to being greeted by staff and assistants. She turned to the pile of luggage which the helicopter pilot had just finished depositing on the grass. “Could you please give us a hand with our things? I can carry the mannequin if it won’t fit in the cart.”
The housekeeper towed his cart over to the suitcases and bags, and with swift efficiency piled them all in. Even the dressmakers dummy was comfortably stowed away. He waved farewell to the pilot, then began to tow the fully laden cart toward the gate. “If you would like to follow me, please.”
Ryan and Camille exchanged grins. This place was exactly what they needed.
As they cleared the gate which led into the garden at the rear of the house, the helicopter’s blades roared back to life, and it took off. Soon the chopper was nothing more than a small silver speck in the clear blue sky.
Ryan brought up the rear as Camille followed Paul along the sandy path which wound its way through the tree lined garden and up to the steps of the white timber framed house. The crash of waves reached his ears. He’d seen the map of the guesthouse on the link sent from the luxury booking site and knew it was close to the beach, but hadn’t realized just how close.
Paul showed Camille to the door. “Please go inside and make yourself comfortable. There is a jug of freshly made lemonade on the kitchen counter. You must be in need a cool drink after the flight from New York City.”
As soon as she was gone, the housekeeper pointed to the bags. “If you would like to take the dressmakers dummy Mister Collins, I can bring in the rest of the luggage.”
Ryan collected the model. He made a point of picking up his own bag. No one should have to carry his tired old suitcase.
Once inside the house all his worries instantly eased, and he set his bag down. The agent’s photos hadn’t done the place justice. It looked like something out of an interior design catalogue. The Hamptons had truly come home.
He’d dearly love to ask Paul who actually owned the place, but Ryan had a sneaking suspicion it might actually be someone whose name was synonymous with the stylish beach home look. Someone who owned a chain of home décor stores. Someone whose private vacation home would easily pass the Royal family security checks.
Paul brought the rest of the bags into the house. He casually picked up Ryan’s suitcase before disappearing upstairs. When he returned, he was still smiling. “The weather forecast for the next two weeks is the best we’ve had all summer. No rain, and light sea breezes.”
Ever the good housekeeper, Paul put the dressmakers model in an out of the way corner of the living room.
This guy is so efficient, I wish he’d come and tidy up Liam’s and my apartment.
“The weather sounds perfect,” said Camille, setting down her empty glass. “Would you be able to give us a quick tour of the house, please?”
The housekeeper’s smile grew even wider. “This part of the island is called Saltaire, I can assure you nothing gets done in a hurry here.” He refilled Camille’s glass, then poured a fresh one for Ryan. As he handed them their drinks he said. “Let’s take a leisurely stroll around the first floor and then outside. I’ll leave the upstairs part of the house to the two of you to explore in your own time.”
Camille had lived in many luxurious places in her life. Her family’s wealth meant she’d never had to stay in anything less than five star accommodation. She was used to marble flooring and highly polished wooden finishes.
But Trade Winds was something different. It was simple yet elegant. Clean lines along with a soft beach palette. Whomever had designed the interior of the guesthouse knew their way with colors and fabrics. A weight of worries slipped from her mind as she took the house and its surroundings in.
Mocha stained oak floorboards created an open and breezy flow to the house. Scattered rugs broke up the large living area into separate but connected spaces. As Paul guided them through their slow tour of the first floor of the house, she and Ryan kept sneaking glances at one another. They had found the perfect place for them to hide away and work.
Through the white painted shutters which covered the windows at the front of the house, she caught occasional glimpses of the sea. It wouldn’t take more than a few steps for her to be standing on the sand.
Paul pointed back to the kitchen. “The butler’s pantry is fully stocked. The refrigerator has all the fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables you asked for Mister Collins. If there is anything special you want, just let me know and I can arrange it. Oh, and the wine cellar is second to none. So, please help yourself. There is a small grocery store in the town, which is a short walk from here, if you need anything else.”
Ryan turned to Camille. “I sent the booking agent a list of supplies we might possibly want. It would be nice for the two of us to cook a few meals while we are here,” he explained.
Camille forced a smile to her lips. “It sounds lovely.”
He knew she couldn’t cook. Her skills in the kitchen began and ended with the steam feature on the oven which she used to reheat her meals. But if Ryan wanted to teach her to make something, she’d be more than willing.
I’d be happy to learn anything he wants to teach me.
She caught the enticing glance that Ryan sent her way, and it set her pulse racing. Could he be thinking the same wicked things as she was?
Camille stirred from her secret musings as Paul moved toward the rear door. “Let me show you the yard, and where the bicycles are stored. You can ride to some other places further north on Fire Island if you are looking for somewhere to take a daytrip. Or you could walk to the lighthouse from here. The big summer festivals are usually held at Fire Island Pines and Cherry Grove, and those places can get super busy. But down here at Saltaire, you’ll find it is perfect for long walks on the beach.”
The beach walks sounded amazing. Romantic. Camille could just imagine walking hand in hand with a lover along the sand. Stopping every so often to whisper sweet words of love to one another, and stealing long lingering kisses.
I have a fashion show to salvage. I can’t be indulging in a summer romance.
She was only here on the island for two weeks. Weeks during which she would have to work. The lighthouse, the festivals, and the beach would unfortunately all have to wait for another time.
They followed Paul outside and he gave them a brief tour of the garden and the big shed which housed not only bicycles, but canoes, and a small skiff. Trade Winds had everything that anyone coming to stay for a vacation could want. Camille got the distinct impression that the house keeper would much rather guests went poking around in the shed, exploring, and finding things for themselves rather than simply be given a full menu of what they could do.
To her relief Ryan made mention that he wasn’t a sailor, nor was he much into water sports, which meant their beach activities would be confined to the occasional evening stroll on the sand, and sunset watching.
Camille chanced another furtive glance at Ryan, and heat raced to her cheeks as he met her gaze. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as her, how soon could they get rid of the lovely Paul?
“Well I think that’s all you folks will probably need to know for your first day. Take the time to have a wander around the place on your own. The joy is in exploring,” said Paul. He pointed in the direction of the sandy path which ran along the back of the property. “I live a short walk from here. So any time you need me, just call the number on the business card which is stuck to the refrigerator.”
He gave Ryan a friendly pat on the arm. “I hope you both enjoy the privacy and seclusion that Trade Winds brings. I think you young folks will love it here. I guarantee you that when it comes to letting people reveal the secrets of their hearts this place has never failed.”
And with that he made his way toward the path and soon disappeared. As she watched Paul leave, Camille pondered the meaning behind his last remark to Ryan.
Did he think we are… lovers? I wonder where he got that impression from.